


No Need For Heroes

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x07 "Rock Never Dies", Anal Sex, Dean's rockstar leather jacket, Episode Related, Fix-It, Fluff, Hair Pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Smut, Top!Sam, bottom!Dean, i guess, that deserves its own tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: “Do you trust me?”Sam looked up in surprise. This wasn’t a question of trust, Dean surely had to know that. This wasn’t about them, this was bigger than them. It had been that way for a while and frankly, Sam was surprised they had managed to scrape by this long. Most of the time it felt like he was barely hanging on by his fingernails. He was spiraling and he seemed to have stepped out, looking in now, watching it all fall to pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It took me forever to proofread and upload this, mostly because I don't think it's very good. But hey, I wrote smut again. Haven't done that in a while. This turned out way less kinky that I had intended, though. Oh well.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing's mine, just the idea. Unbeta'd.

Dean had insisted on driving all the way from L.A. in one go and Sam was suffering the consequences of it. 

He had to admit that it was nice to be back home – he had grown to hate motels even more since they had moved into the bunker – but his knees and back were aching and there was a cramp in his right calf that wasn’t going away any time soon.

Maybe he was simply getting old. Dean probably would have something to say to that.

He had hobble-walked down the stairs into the main hall, his brother making fun of him for it all the way, muttering something about Sasquatch-sized little brothers under his breath.

But Sam had seen the lines around Dean’s eyes. The exhaustion.

Cas and Crowley had disappeared pretty much right after Lucifer had and there hadn’t been a word from either of them. 

Sam knew he should go to bed. He had just spent twenty hours and thirteen-thousand miles in a car with his brother in near-silence save for the occasional “Gotta pee” or “I’m hungry”.

Oh, and before that, there had come the inevitable but shocking realization that the human race was doomed. Yet again.

The light of his laptop screen was hurting his eyes and his brain but Sam refused to shut it down. It would feel too much like giving up, even if there was nothing more he could do tonight. So far, nothing had cropped up that sounded even remotely like it could be Lucifer-related, and while that should make Sam happy, it only made him more restless.

There was a rap of knuckles against wood and Sam gave a start. He raised his eyes to find Dean leaning against one of the bookshelves barely six feet away. Sam hadn’t heard him approach.

“Thought you’d gone to bed.” Dean’s expression wasn’t exactly disapproving but getting there and he looked just as tired as Sam felt. He was barefoot but still wearing that stupid jacket with Sam’s white T-shirt underneath it, slightly wrinkled now.

His own T-shirt had fallen victim to a spilled cup of coffee right around St. George and by then, Sam had already changed back into his clothes from earlier that day.

“Can’t sleep,” Sam returned mindlessly. So far he hadn’t tried but it was probably true anyway.

Dean sighed. Reaching out as he came closer, he gently tilted the lid of Sam’s laptop forward until it shut with a soft click. He leaned back against the edge of the library table.

“Talk to me.”

Sam pushed his chair back. Shook his head. There was too much going on. His body was exhausted but his mind wouldn’t stand still and, for a moment – until Dean had given some of it back to him –, outside of that club in the City of Angels Sam had genuinely lost hope.

In twelve years, he had never been this close to throwing in the towel and it was terrifying. Almost more terrifying than what they were facing. San wanted to believe _so badly_ that they would find a way to defeat The Big Bad once more.

Dean folded his arms in front of his chest, leather creaking softly as it shifted. “Sam Winchester doesn’t wanna talk. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Sam was so tired. “Don’t,” he said, “Just … don’t.”

Dean’s eyes softened, his shoulders relaxed. “Hey.” A smile in the corner of his eyes, even if it was a weak one. He moved into the space Sam had created between the table and himself. Their knees knocked together.

“We’ll figure this out.” It was along the same lines of what Dean had tried to make Sam believe back in L.A. Their roles seemed oddly reversed. Usually, the pep talk was part of Sam’s job description.

He nodded because there was nothing else he could do.

“Do you trust me?”

Sam looked up in surprise. This wasn’t a question of trust, Dean surely had to know that. This wasn’t about them, this was bigger than them. It had been that way for a while and frankly, Sam was surprised they had managed to scrape by this long. 

Most of the time it felt like he was barely hanging on by his fingernails. He was spiraling and he seemed to have stepped out, looking in now, watching it all fall to pieces.

Dean’s fingers closed around his wrist and he jumped.

“Sammy, you really need some sleep.”

Sam wanted to argue that he had gotten some in the car but they both knew rest wasn’t easy to come by in the cramped space of the front seat.

Sleep wouldn’t magically fix anything but, nonetheless, Dean was right.

“How,” Sam began, voice raspy, and he had to clear his throat, “How can you be so calm about this?”

Dean’s smile was wry. “I ain’t. But I know we can figure this out. Together. Just not today. Not tonight.”

Sam nodded again, his mind elsewhere, and turned his hand palm-up so he could feel Dean’s pulse beat faintly but steadily against the tips of his fingers. 

Dean let go of Sam’s wrist. He let his own fingers linger for a moment before his hand fell to his side.

Sam kept staring at the spot on the inside of his wrist where Dean’s thumb had rested just a moment ago. Strong. Warm. Solid.

He inhaled shakily, looking up at his brother again. What was it with Dean and the constant smiling tonight? It was starting to weird Sam out.

He was about to open his mouth to ask about it when his brother reached out again, this time with his other hand, running it along the collar of Sam’s flannel. The knuckle of his index finger briefly brushed against the skin of Sam’s neck and Sam heard his own breath stutter.

It was a fairly innocuous touch as far as touches went, but the intense focus in Dean’s eyes made it anything but. He tilted his head and as he slowly pulled his hand back his fingers caught the prickly edge of Sam’s jaw, the brush of skin against skin deliberate this time.

All of a sudden Dean was much closer than he had been less than a second ago. He made a surprised noise and Sam realized he had fisted his own hands in Dean’s jacket and tugged him forward.

Without the table’s edge to lean against, Dean was balancing in the narrow space between Sam’s knees, one hand on the armrest of Sam’s chair, the other on Sam’s shoulder to keep himself from tipping forward.

The glint in Dean’s eyes held a challenge, maybe a bit of a warning. The curl of his lips revealed amusement.

Sam let his hands trail up, enjoying the smooth roughness of the leather under his fingertips before he grabbed a tight hold of Dean’s lapels and tugged again, this time with a little more force. A little more intent.

Dean nearly overbalanced. He made a small gasping sound, instinctively bracing both his hands on Sam’s shoulders for support. 

Then, to Sam’s surprise, he gently kicked Sam’s legs closed with his shins and lowered himself into Sam’s lap, straddling him.

Sam’s eyes were irreparably drawn to the V of Dean’s spread thighs. He trailed his fingers along the inseam of Dean’s jeans, cherishing the slight hitch of breath from above.

It was strange, having to look up at his brother – Sam had outgrown that halfway through his junior year of high school – but he oddly liked it. Dean had always seemed larger than life itself to him. It was the way he carried himself, the ‘fight me’ challenge in his eyes, his never-wavering confidence that was so obviously overcompensation but still somehow reassuring. It was what kept Sam sane.

If Dean honestly thought they could do this, then they could do this.

Dean’s hand came up to Sam’s face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He said, “I do think we can do this,” and Sam realized he must have said some of that out loud.

He felt himself run hot under Dean’s scrutiny but it did allow him to breathe a little more easily. He nodded, this time with more confidence. “All right.”

Dean smiled again and Sam never ever wanted him to stop. It had been too goddamn long since either of them had had a reason to smile openly and brilliantly like Dean was doing right now.

Apparently, Dean didn’t need a reason. He propped his elbows up on Sam’s shoulders, leaning more of his weight against Sam, who, in turn, wrapped his arms more tightly around him.

They hadn’t had time to shower and Dean smelled like an intoxicating mix of sweat, leather, and remnants of his cologne. He smelled warm, like the road and like home, and Sam had the sudden urge to bury his nose in the hollow of Dean’s throat. 

So he did.

Dean startled slightly but loosely slung his arms around Sam’s shoulders and neck. Blunt fingernails scratched against Sam’s scalp.

It was a nice, intimate moment and for half a minute Sam thought he might actually fall asleep like this. But then Dean shifted on top of him and it abruptly turned into something else.

It didn’t seem deliberate. Dean hadn’t planned this but, regardless, here they were. Sam’s hands slid lower on their own accord, over Dean’s hips and down, spanning the width of Dean’s thighs, and he squeezed briefly, fingers digging into denim.

There was another gasping sound. Dean didn’t even try to muffle it and that fact in itself was enough for Sam to make him tilt his head up – and wasn’t that a strange feeling – to nuzzle along Dean’s jaw and cheek. His lips found the corner of Dean’s mouth and then Dean turned his head, just a little, just the fraction of an inch, and they slotted into place perfectly. Two puzzle pieces fitting together.

Maybe this had been premeditated after all. Not by them, not necessarily, but maybe it had always been supposed to be this way. Kissing Dean now sure made Sam think so.

It was comfort. Reassurance. It was ‘We’re still here and we’re together’.

Dean’s lips and tongue moved against Sam’s slowly, almost lazily until Sam’s hands tightened on Dean’s hips and he pulled him in and down. Dean groaned and bit down.

The sudden spike of pain in his lower lip kicked Sam into action. He knocked his brother off balance when he surged up and out of the chair, crowding Dean against the table until Dean backed up onto it, shuffling back to allow for Sam to move in between his legs.

He made a sound in the back of his throat, a quiet chuckle, but when Sam asked “What?” there was another kiss instead of an answer.

Sam’s hands slid under Dean’s jacket, and really, it was ridiculous that he was still wearing it. Sam suspected his brother had grown attached to it but it just wasn’t right to Sam. It was soft, good quality but it smelled too new, not enough like gunpowder and parchment. It made Dean look too much like a rockstar – which was exactly why he had chosen it in the first place. 

But Dean wasn’t a rockstar. The both of them, they were the guys behind the curtain. The outlaws. The ones people whispered about but few had actually laid eyes on and known who _exactly_ they were dealing with.

They were the ones no one ever recognized, the secret legacies. Sam liked it that way, not for the mystery but for the privacy.

It was sort of fitting really, what they were doing – or about to do – and where they were doing it. In what Sam regarded as ‘their’ library – he had gone through the effort of cataloging it himself after all – in a secret underground bunker that had essentially become their home. Something Sam hadn’t thought he would ever get to have.

“You know we have to eat at this table at some point, right?” Dean’s breath was hot against the side of Sam’s face. His kiss-swollen lips dragged wetly along Sam’s cheek when he spoke.

Sam made a non-committal noise. “Whoever comes first has to clean up.” He pressed Dean down against the smooth wooden surface, draping the length of his own body over his brother’s. 

Dean’s laughter vibrated through him. “Oh, it’s on!” He grinned into the next kiss. “Show me what you got, little brother.”

Sam ignored the spark of desire he felt at Dean calling him that and started his way down the line of his brother’s neck to his collarbone, nipping the skin with his teeth as he went.

Dean’s fingers tugged at Sam’s hair, urging him on, pushing him to move this along faster. But Sam wasn’t about to be rushed. It wasn’t every day that he got to have his big brother – Dean ‘tough guy’ Winchester – underneath him, squirming and pliant as a kitten. 

Kitty had claws, though, which Dean dug into the nape of Sam’s neck when Sam found a particularly sensitive spot right where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. He _was_ practically purring when Sam pushed his – _Sam’s_ – shirt up and continued his exploration right below Dean’s navel. 

Other than lifting his hips a little, his brother wasn’t much help in removing his clothes but Sam managed, fingers quickly undoing the button and fly on Dean’s jeans and working them plus his underwear down until they pooled on the floor. 

Since Sam was already basically nuzzling Dean’s groin, he didn’t waste any time before licking up the underside of Dean’s erect cock until he could close his mouth around the tip.

The back of Dean’s head hit the table top with a dull thud as Sam slid down, taking more and more of Dean’s cock into his mouth until it was wet with saliva and hitting the back of his throat.

Sam could hear his brother mutter, “Not fair,” and the hand in his hair tightened, little pin-pricks of pain tingling all the way down his spine. He would have grinned if he could have, but as it was, he only hefted Dean’s left thigh into his shoulder, opening him up more to Sam’s mouth and fingers. 

Sam wasn’t about to get up and hunt for lube when he had Dean already right here, already like this, so they would have to make do.

He hadn’t even lost one piece of clothing yet but he was achingly hard in his own pants and he hurried to get rid of them, giving his own cock a brief squeeze to relieve some of the pressure. To get some kind of friction.

His moan reverberated through Dean as well, who made a helpless noise, his hips jerking off the table. 

Sam pulled back, his hand clamping down on Dean’s thigh, keeping him in place. “Slow down there, cowboy.”

Dean gave a frustrated huff. “You slow down,” he returned, breathless.

Splaying his left palm over Dean’s lower stomach to hold him down, Sam ignored him and started jacking Dean’s cock with his right hand, allowing his mouth to travel lower.

“Ah, Jesus.”

The encouragement from above was all he needed. He briefly nuzzled the inside of Dean’s thigh before traveling to gently push his tongue against the furled ring of muscle between the cheeks of Dean’s ass. 

Dean was all sweat and musk and heat down there. He was making these little hitching sounds, muscles quivering, straining, and Sam felt more powerful than he ever had high and drunk on demon blood.

Dean’s hand was back in Sam’s hair, pulling at the strands and Sam let him. With a short tug on his hip, he brought Dean closer to the edge of the table, closer to his mouth, and put in more of an effort into licking Dean open, getting him wet and ready for two of his fingers, which he slid in alongside his tongue.

The sounds pouring out of Dean’s mouth were entirely delicious and Sam was so hard he swore his vision was starting to blur. His own fingers were digging into the flesh of Dean’s thigh but Dean didn’t complain, just moaned again when Sam replaced his tongue with a third finger, twisting all three deeper.

Sweat-slick skin writhing on smooth hardwood, Dean dug his heels into the space between Sam’s shoulder blades, drawing him in. Sam swallowed Dean’s cock back down, thrust his fingers back in, pads of his fingertips gently prodding at Dean’s prostate.

The hand in his hair tightened almost to the point of actual pain. A gasp, “Sammy, please, I’m –“

Sam wrenched himself away, straightened up so Dean’s legs dropped down on either side of his torso. He withdrew his fingers until the tips were the only thing still stretching Dean’s hole.

Sam’s own voice was hoarse, sounding used when he asked, “You want me to make you come now?” He wasn’t thinking of their competition. All he cared about was making his brother feel good, giving him what he needed. Whatever that was.

_Anything._

Dean shook his head violently. A shudder ran through his entire body. “No,” he panted, “Not yet.” His fingers found Sam’s forearm. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t have to think twice about obeying that request. His hands stroked up Dean’s sides, underneath the T-shirt, underneath the leather jacket, and Dean surged up, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders to pull him down.

Their lips crashed together with much less finesse than before. Unabashed, Dean groaned into Sam’s mouth and there were teeth, it was sloppy and perfect and Sam almost got distracted from the task at hand.

“You good?” he asked. It meant anything and everything from ‘Are you ready?’ to ‘Do you trust me?’ to ‘You really think we can so this?’.

Dean would know that. “Yeah.” It was the answer to all of those implied questions. His lips curled into a smile against Sam’s mouth.

Sam gathered as much saliva as he could to slick his cock with. He knew it wouldn’t be enough and it would probably hurt. Dean’s eyes told him that Dean knew that, too. And that he couldn't have cared less.

With an impatient wriggle of his hips, Dean brought his ass closer to Sam’s cock, driving the message home. He was arching his back all the way through Sam entering him, sinking all the way to the hilt in one long, slow, agonizing slide.

With Dean’s wet little hitches of breath against his ear, Sam dropped his forehead to his brother’s shoulder, drawing a shaky breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It sounded reverent and awe-filled even to his own ears and he could hear and feel Dean chuckle. A strained, breathless sound. 

A hand stroked down his naked back, over the bumps of his spine, the pads of Dean’s fingers rough with callouses but still so endlessly gentle. It sort of went with the soft leather crinkling against Sam’s front, the metal zipper biting into his breastbone.

Sam shifted and Dean made a wounded sound, a whimper in the back of his throat. His fingers tightened on Sam’s flank and it sparked Sam into action.

He pushed up onto his hands, one palm curling around Dean’s hip, and he slowly pulled out, making Dean hiss sharply with the stretch and burn. The little gasp from Dean that was followed up by a moan when Sam thrust back in was truly testing Sam’s ability to restrain himself.

Dean was stunning like this, hair sweat-damp, skin flushed and eyes dark with desire and need. And all those wonderful noises that kept spilling from his parted lips made Sam cling to his composure with all the strength he had left. It took everything in him to not just hold Dean down and pound into him mindlessly. Without heed.

As if Dean knew what he was thinking, his eyes flashed and he drew up his knees, caging Sam in and drawing him in with his legs. He tilted his hips up into every thrust and Sam wanted to weep with how good it felt.

Dean urged him on with his body and they fell into a rhythm that was nothing short of punishing but Dean was there for all of it, tossing and twisting but always toward Sam, never away, and he held on tight to Sam’s biceps.

Dean’s legs tightened around him and Sam just knew he was going to lose this particular competition. But that was okay, there were really only winners here.

Then, Dean tilted his hips into a different angle and Sam’s cock hit Dean’s prostate harder every time instead of just grazing it. Dean made a strangled noise but kept his hips angled that way, taking Sam’s cock deep every time.

He came suddenly, keening, groaning, his whole body shuddering and clenching around Sam, who braced himself with a surprised grunt, fucking Dean slowly through his orgasm. Then, he let go himself, allowing himself to crash and fall.

He came to, Dean bracketed in between his elbows, head hanging low and Dean’s fingers tiredly carding through his hair. He turned his head to mouth along the underside of Dean’s jaw.

He said softly, “I love you.”

Dean tensed, almost imperceptibly and only for a moment, before he relaxed and chuckled quietly. “That’s what they all say.”

Sam snorted, teeth nipping playfully at his brother’s skin before he pulled back. They were both sweaty and sticky. The table wasn’t the only thing that needed cleaning.

However, all of that would have to wait until the next day if Dean’s drooping eyelids were any indication. Sam’s own exhaustion was spreading through his limbs quickly and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a soft bed and sleep dreamlessly until the sun stood high in the sky.

He wrapped his arms around Dean, helping him sit up – and kissing him silly in the process, just because he could. When they parted, Dean’s eyes were closed and he was smiling again. Sam had decided to take it for the gift that it was.

Something came to him and a wide-stretched grin took over his face.

As if his brother had sensed it, he opened his eyes, suspicion creating a crease between his eyebrows. “What?”

“You came first.”

There were two more seconds of confusion, post-coital haze slowing down any thinking processes, before Dean’s expression turned wry. 

He drawled, “I do all the cleaning around here anyways.”

His eyes were glittering with a amusement, though, and Sam forwent a reply in favor of kissing him again. 

He knew that Dean would find a way to weasle out of his cleaning duties, making up some shit about errands he had to run or maybe pretending to have pulled a muscle that made it impossible for him to move this way or the other.

Sam knew Dean’s excuses before Dean even had had a chance to come up with them, had catalogued Dean’s facial expressions when he was bullshitting before Dean had even thought of the lie he wanted to tell.

For once, Sam found he didn’t mind all that much.


End file.
